Barbara spoke pettishly. She and Eugenia were wandering about the big house together. They were looking over the arrangements Eugenia had made for her recently acquired family. These were, of course, of the most primitive kind. There were about eighteen army cots in the bedrooms, some light coverings, and a few wooden chairs. In the big front room downstairs long planks had been laid across wooden supports. This formed a large and informal dining room table. Yet by accident this same room contained a magnificent Flemish oak sideboard that had been left in the house by the former owners of the place.
However, Barbara and Eugenia were in Eugenia's own bedroom when the present conversation started. They had already seen the lower floor of the house, where Barbara had been introduced to Eugenia's cook, who was a plain Flemish woman. But it was the history of the housemaid, a woman of between forty and fifty, whose identity Barbara was questioning.
In reply Eugenia gazed at her friend earnestly for a few moments and then slowly shook her head.
"These are war times, Bab. I thought you and I had agreed long ago to ask no unnecessary questions."
Eugenia had seated herself on the side of her cot bed, Barbara was on a high wooden box, which served as a chair, near the window.
She did not reply at first, but this was merely because she was thinking, not because she intended to consider Eugenia's suggestion.
She had one foot crossed under her, while the other swung in the air. Her brow was wrinkled into a painfully heavy frown for so miniature a person. Unconsciously Barbara pulled meditatively at a brown curl that had escaped from the knot at the back of her head.
During her long study Eugenia smiled at her guest. She too could not grow accustomed to considering Barbara as responsible a person as the rest of the Red Cross girls. This was only because of her appearance, for she had learned to have faith in her.
All of a sudden Barbara began talking again, just where she had left off.
"It is all very well to preach, Gene, about not asking unnecessary questions because we are living and working in war times. But you know very well we never expected that point of view to apply to asking questions of each other. We came abroad as strangers, except that Mildred and I knew each other slightly, but since then we have become friends. At least, we care a great deal about each other's interests. Now I don't think for a minute we have the right to keep secrets from one another. That is, unless they happen to be of a kind one simply can't bear to tell." And at this Barbara hesitated for an instant.